


crawling back to you

by belowaveragehero



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: I have no excuses, but what i do have is a hole in my heart that Pitch used to fill so bear with me, guys... i know, starting another multi chapter work when i have unfinished stories up is bad form
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 21:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14457888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belowaveragehero/pseuds/belowaveragehero
Summary: Canon divergence where Mike does get traded and Ginny doesn't get injured.





	crawling back to you

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by the Arctic Monkeys' 'Do I Wanna Know?' (highly recommend the Hozier cover) (this was one edit away from being lyric fic so let's all be grateful I'm aware it's 2018 and not 2008)

Mike wakes with a start, the artificial light of Chicago’s nightlife spilling in through his open hotel room window. There are people laughing somewhere below him, and he grimaces as though their happiness is a nuisance to him. He stands and stretches, every joint in his body angry at him for falling asleep in the arm chair instead of the bed.  
There is something fading from his brain as sleep slips further away, and he struggles to remember it before it’s gone. He can’t quite grasp it, but he thinks it was part of his dream. Quickly, in his mind’s eye, there is a flash of impossibly deep dimples and a smile that makes him feel warm all over.

_Ginny._

He had been dreaming about Ginny. Again. 

Some mornings he woke up with her humming still ringing in his ears, almost as if she was in the next room. Others he would swear he could smell her, spicy in a sweet way, like chai and honey. The worst, though were times like this. Waking in the middle of the night with her on his mind. 

In the morning, at least, he had things to do. He could push all things Ginny Baker to the back of his mind and put all of his focus on the day ahead of him. But now… now there were no distractions and he could give in to thoughts of the team he had left behind when he had been traded, of the teammate he couldn’t forget. 

Mike picked up his phone from the table beside the chair, almost knocking over the rocks glass he had used to feign civility while downing an entire bottle of whiskey. Clicking the home button, his phone let him know that it was 1:46 am, he had no missed calls or texts, and Spotify had finished playing Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream album. He angrily swiped the album from his notification bar. His whiskey addled brain was going out of its way to induce Ginny related dreams. 

He hardly needed the help. 

For perhaps the millionth time in the weeks since his trade to the Cubs, Mike thought about that night outside of Boardners. About how close they had come to… He didn’t know what. Would it have been a mistake? Or the best thing that ever happened to him? 

Thanks to Oscar, he would never know. In the ten seconds it took for him to tell Mike that the trade was official, Ginny had come to her senses. The few feet between them felt like a chasm, and she got into her car, leaving so much unsaid, undone. 

He made his way to the bathroom, pausing in the mirror.The bloodshot eyes that stared back at him were haunting. His beard was the bushiest he’d ever let it get. He was way past Duck Dynasty and heading for all out caveman territory. Washing his hands after he’d peed, his phone lit up on the counter. He unlocked it without reading the notification and came face to face with a draft of a text that was meant for Ginny. He quickly erased the text, both out of fear that he might accidentally send it and also not to have to see the pathetic _I’ve been watching your games._ he’d typed out. 

His cringe worthy attempt at starting a conversation removed from the screen, he couldn’t help but read their last exchange. 

He’d sent, _Holy SHIT, Baker!!!_

She’d replied hours later, probably after a night out on the town with the team.

_We play pretty well without you._

It had stung. More than stung. 

Watching her pitch that no hitter had been the proudest moment of his life. A no hitter! Thrown by the first female pitcher in the majors, the first ever Padre period. It was a monumental moment. 

Watching Duarte catch pitch after amazing pitch, _that_ had stung. 

Watching the team flood the field after the final out, that caused a San Diego shaped ache to bloom in his chest. 

Watching his rookie embrace his cocky young replacement as he got to twirl her around the field… that burned him a little.

But that text back… It was more unpleasant than the first ice bath he’d ever taken. Cold and sharp.

Mike doesn’t remember falling back to sleep, but the ringing of his phone wakes him. Rachel’s face is lighting up his screen when he fishes it out of the sheets that have tangled around him, and he’s not sure if he wants to take the call. 

After a moment's hesitation, he answers “Hey, Rach.” 

There is a pause before she replies. 

“Did I wake you?”

The disapproval in her voice is evident and Mike pulls the phone from his ear to check the time. 11:52. It’s an hour earlier back in California, which only makes it worse, really.

“No, no,” he lies, “I think I’ve got a cold or something.”

Mike clears his throat for emphasis, even though he knows his ex wife knows him well enough to know he’s lying. 

“Hopefully that clears up quickly.”

Her willingness to play along likely means she wants something, and she leaves no time for Mike to wonder what that might be.

“We certainly wouldn’t want you under the weather when the Cubs face the Padres in the Series,” Rachel laughs, and Mike knows it is her carefully cultivated journalist laugh. The one that charms people into forgetting to say their comments are off the record. 

He is silent, but that does not deter her.

“What are the odds of that? You being traded only for the Padres to be a contender?”

There is a heavy pause where she’s obviously expecting him to speak, and so he does.

“Listen, Rach, it’s nice to hear from you but I can’t really talk.”

“Of course. You’ve got to pack for your return to Petco. Do me a favor, make some time to see me when you get in.”

It’s not a question, and Mike knows better than to argue. 

“Sure, Rach. Got to go.”

Mike ends the call, sighing heavily. He had been trying to avoid thinking about the Series. He’d spent his whole career trying to get a ring with the Padres, and now he could only get one by winning against them.

Petco had been Mike’s home, more than his actual home, for most of his adult life. And now it was probably the place he was least welcome in the state of California. 

It could not be avoided, though. The Padres had been a force of nature since that no-no. Mike couldn’t help but feel that it was his leaving that had given the team a chance, and the avoidance of that thought was probably 40% responsible for the bottle of whiskey that had become routine the night before a day off.

As for the other 60%... Mike supposed he would have to face her soon enough, like it or not.


End file.
